


the child is grown, the dream is gone

by Anonymous



Category: Formula 1 RPF, Formula 2 RPF
Genre: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, One-Sided Attraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:09:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28134462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: When I was a childI caught a fleeting glimpseOut of the corner of my eyeI turned to look but it was goneI cannot put my finger on it nowThe child is grownThe dream is goneI have become comfortably numb
Relationships: Callum Ilott/Mick Schumacher
Comments: 5
Kudos: 65
Collections: Anonymous





	the child is grown, the dream is gone

He knows, rationally, that his inferiority complex has no place in a healthy, stable relationship. He _also_ knows that Mick is the model of someone he can’t ever hope to be: successful, for one, but also full of a kindness and drive that Callum doesn’t have. Everyone adores Mick, how could they not? And the green-eyed monster in the back of Callum’s mind rears its ugly, deformed head, sinks its teeth into everything it sees, no survivors. 

If he can’t have it, the ultimate victory, one of twenty seats in the whole world—at least Mick has it. But he doesn’t want anyone else to bask in it, doesn’t want to see Robert’s arms wrapped tight around Mick, doesn’t want to hear the loud congratulations wherever Mick goes. 

*

They fucked in Fiorano, after the tests were over. That was the first and last time. Mick had made it clear enough there would be no second round. He wondered, at the time, if he was a bad fuck, if Mick thought he wasn’t attractive enough. He knows, now, that it’s about something bigger, something he can’t change with more experience and extra hours in the gym. Back then, he still had hope that it wasn’t. 

Callum thinks about that day pathetically often. He doubts Mick remembers it very well, at least not in the way Callum does: fresh on his mind, whispered curses, the textured wall digging into Callum’s back, sweat gathered in the crests and troughs of Mick’s muscles.

Sometimes he gets hard at the thought. He refuses to wank off to it, feels disgusted at the mere idea of violating Mick like that, however indirect it may be. Instead, he stands under the cold shower for half an hour, crying salty, red-hot tears that burn his eyes. 

Emilia-Romagna, where dreams went to be kindled and die. At least he never had to go back.

*

And then he gets the pity job, the consolation prize for trying but not having enough money to _keep_ trying. So he does go back to Emilia-Romagna, to beautiful Maranello, where Mick gets seat fits and Callum gets sessions on an overpowered computer.

He sees the same yellow-green foliage that had shivered over them while Callum pressed his fingers deep inside Mick. He hears the loud Italian voices, a permanent soundtrack to everything they did. He tastes the bitter espresso and smells the burning oil. Once, he even gets to touch Mick, a light brush of his hand on the back of Mick’s neck. Neither of them flinches, and he supposes that’s good enough. 

Nearly everything is good enough for him. Tiny scraps, tossed to him like he’s a stray dog. He’ll take what he can get. 

*

“I love you,” Callum says to no one.

“I love you more than I should,” he continues. 

“I wish I didn’t love you,” he adds.

“I wish you loved me,” he corrects himself.

“I wish you loved me the way I love you,” he says, finally.

Because deep down, somewhere Callum can’t see, Mick does love him. It’s just not obsessive. It’s good, it’s pure. The kind of love he wants to learn. The kind of love champions get. Special people. Not you, Callum. Never you. 


End file.
